


Bobbi's Unfair Advantage

by gth694e



Series: Coulson's Unstable but Awesome Crew [5]
Category: Marvel, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Board Games, Clint Feels, Clint Needs a Hug, Clint jumps to conclusions, Clint reads Little Women, Coulson's Behavior Chart, F/M, Game Night, M/M, Nat plays the long game, Natasha POV, Phil Coulson is not a robot, Phil Needs a Hug, Pre-Slash, Protective Phil Coulson, Rescue Missions, SHIELD, SHIELD medical, Zodiac, casual Phil, clint's pov, mentions of Deadpool
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-15
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 11:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1467235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gth694e/pseuds/gth694e
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time Clint Barton heard of Bobbi Morse, he was in the crawl space above Phil Coulson’s office.</p>
<p>In which Clint jumps to conclusions, Phil loses his cool, and Nat plays the long game.</p>
<p>Note: This can be read as a standalone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bobbi's Unfair Advantage

**Author's Note:**

> A warning: there is some description of injuries caused by someone being beaten/tortured in the line of duty as a SHIELD agent. No actual torture happens on screen, though there is some canon type violence.
> 
> A note: This takes place about a year after the events of Nat's Infamous Peanut Butter Cookies. That fic takes place over the course of 1998-1999 and this one takes place in around 2000. 
> 
> A thanks: Many thanks to my beta-reader concertigrossi, who is complete awesome-sauce. Any mistakes herein are mine and despite her best efforts.
> 
> As usual the rating is for canon type violence and Clint's dirty mouth.

The first time Clint Barton heard of Bobbi Morse, he was in the crawl space above Phil Coulson’s office.

Clint had made a nest: a burrow of SHIELD-issue blankets and stolen clothes, an old ratty teddy bear his mother had given him so very long ago, a newer teddy bear that Nat had won for him at a carnival, and a stack of well-loved paperback books. There was a bow stashed nearby, for easy access, but not in his nest. This was a place of refuge and rest where he didn’t need weapons and where he didn’t need to worry.

There were only two places in the entire world where he felt that way. One was in Natasha Romanoff’s bed, and the other was here, above his handler’s desk.

Clint curled in the blankets, hugging his pillow to his chest, his head resting on an old gray hoodie, and listened to the steady tap-tap-tap of Phil typing.

The archer dozed, dreaming of Nat running her fingers through his hair as Phil smiled at him, when a knock jerked him out of his half-sleep state.

“Come in,” Phil said, and the door clicked open.

“Do you have a moment?” Clint relaxed at the sound of Mary Stewart’s voice. The nervous engineer was many things, but a threat was not one of them.

“I always have a moment for you,” Phil said with a level of kindness he only ever showed for the skittish woman.

Clint snuggled back into his nest, nestling into a pillow that had once belonged to Nat, and letting the steady cadence of their conversation wash over him.

Unsurprisingly Mary was having a problem with one of the other engineers in her lab. The woman’s voice trembled, audibly on the edge of tears. Clint gritted his teeth. _Looks like I need to give a “don’t mess with Coulson’s Crew” talk to R &D again_.

“I thought you were supposed to protect me from this,” Mary said. “That the point of being one of your assets was that I don’t have to deal with the others, that I…”

“Mary,” Phil said, his interruption perfectly timed before Mary fell into hysterics again. There was a pause, and Clint heard the familiar clink of a spoon in a sugar bowl. Clint smiled. Tea was Phil’s go-to remedy whenever anyone came to his office upset. He could imagine them sitting on the couch, stirring their teas.

After a moment, during which Clint assumed Mary drank her calming tea, Phil said, “I’ll talk to the lab director about Fred’s behavior. It’s unacceptable.”

“No, don’t do that,” Mary said. “Fred is just a dick, and I can deal with it, it’s just that…well, the lab hasn’t been the same since Bobbi left.” She sighed again. “I miss her.”

Phil was silent for a moment, and then he said, “I know, Mary.”

“I don’t understand why you won’t tell me…”

“She’s deep undercover. You know I can’t tell you any more than that. You know what kind of business we do here.”

“But Bobbi is a scientist, not a field agent. She’s not like Clint and Natasha. She’s not an assassin, just a biochemist.”

“If Clint and Natasha could have done this mission, SHIELD would’ve sent them. We needed a biochemist. Bobbi volunteered. And do you really think I sent her out there without proper training and backup? Mary, look at me.” Pause. “Do you really think I’d send her out there if I didn’t have complete faith in her ability to complete the mission?” Phil’s voice had lost its unflappable calm, his voice filled with passionate fervency that Clint had never heard from his handler before.

And then it dropped away, to a whisper that Clint almost didn’t hear. “Do you really think I’d risk Bobbi?”

“No. I know you wouldn’t. I know, Phil. You’d never—she’s your…your…” Mary seemed at a loss to find the correct word.

“My friend,” Phil said, “and for the record, I miss her too.”

Clint uncurled, turning to lie on his back.

Bobbi. Who was this woman that Phil expressed so much emotion over her? That he missed her so much? And why had Phil never told Clint about her?

“Are you coming to game night tonight?” Phil asked.

“As long as we don’t play Risk. I refuse to play that game with the others anymore,” Mary answered, and Clint couldn’t help but grin. He, Nat, and Melinda may have gotten a little competitive at the last game night.

“I promise we won’t play Risk,” Phil said, with a smile in his tone.

The two exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then Mary sighed. “I better head back.”

“Do you need me to come with you?”

“No, but thank you.”

“Let me know if he gets out of hand again.”

“I will. See you this evening.”

Clint listened for the door to close behind the engineer and then he crawled out of his nest. He made his way to a loose ceiling tile, pulled it away, and then tumbled gently out.

He landed softly in a sitting position on top of the fridge in the back corner of Phil’s office, his legs dangling off the side. “So…” Clint said, smiling down at his handler, who still sat on the couch. “Who’s Bobbi?”

“Red dot,” Phil said, motioning to the stickers on his desk. “For eavesdropping on my conversation with another agent.”

Clint sighed but jumped off the fridge. He pouted as he grabbed the sheet of red dots and placed yet another one next to his name on the chart on the wall. Three in row. ( _Really need to do something about that_.)

Phil moved from the couch to the desk while Clint was at the chart. The archer turned and faced him, preparing to ask again about the mysterious Bobbi.

“I don’t want to hear about you or Natasha threatening any engineers,” Phil warned him without looking up from his computer. “If I get any bad reports from R&D about you two related to the conversation you just overheard, it’ll be three red dots.”

“Aww, sir, we’re just looking out for…”

“Mary doesn’t need your help,” Phil said sharply, shooting Clint a stern look. “Now, don’t you have some place you need to be?”

Clint rolled his eyes but understood the obvious dismissal for what it was.

It wasn’t until he was halfway to the gym that he realized he still had no idea who Bobbi was.

#

A kick to the gut dropped Clint to his knees. He turned it into a roll, before his assailant could drop him permanently, and then went for the grab. But she was too fast, dancing out of his reach. _(Fucking superspy.)_

Clint got to his feet before Nat could press her advantage. He retreated to the edge of the mat, and Nat allowed him a moment to regain his breath. “So,” Clint said, in his most casual tone. “Do we know a biochemist named Bobbi?”

Nat cocked her head slightly and then motioned for him to attack her. The break was over. Clint dodged forward, feinting a punch from the left and actually kicking at her knee from the right.

Within moments, she had him penned on the ground, her arm heavy against his shoulders and his face mashed into the mat. “Robert is a fairly common name, and Bobby is a common diminutive…”

“A girl,” Clint managed to spit out, trying to roll her off his back and failing.

“Last I checked SHIELD does not employ minors.”

“God, Nat, you know what I mean,” Clint said, managing to throw her off balance and pin her to the ground with the full weight of his body. “A woman. A woman named Bobbi who is a biochemist for SHIELD R&D but is currently out in the field.”

Nat looked up at him placidly, as if she wasn’t flat on her back on a mat. “Why the sudden interest? Do you owe her some money?”

“Why do you assume I owe her money? What if she owed me money?”

Nat gave him a flat stare and then shook him off as if he was an 80 lb. child instead of a 200 lb. assassin.

“You have no faith in me,” Clint said.

“Don’t pout, Clint. It’s not attractive on you.” She began to stretch, signaling the match was over. Clint moved back a few paces from her and leaned forward, grabbing his ankles, feeling the burn in his legs and back.

“Dr. Barbara Morse,” Nat said after a few moments of silence. “Goes by Bobbi. Earned her PhD in Biochemistry from Georgia Tech in 1994, graduated from SHIELD SciTech Academy in 1996 and has been Phil’s asset ever since. Been on a deep undercover mission—location and purpose undisclosed—since September 1998.”

“Do you know everything?” Clint asked, impressed despite himself.

“Yes,” Nat answered. “Now why do you want to know about Bobbi?”

“I heard Mary and Coulson talking about her,” Clint said. “And I was just curious.”

Nat lifted an eyebrow.

“He seemed like…I mean…it seemed like she was more than an asset to him.”

Nat didn’t respond and Clint sat up from his stretch, looking at her. “What?”

“Think about it, Clint,” she said with a shrug. “Phil is a capable, competent, fit, and decent-looking man. Bobbi is a by-all-accounts brilliant, competent, and beautiful woman.”

Clint frowned at her. “What?”

Nat rolled her eyes, as if he was being purposefully dense.

“Wait,” Clint said. “Are you saying that Coulson and this Bobbi person are like dating?”

“I’m not saying anything,” Nat said, rising to her feet. “I am going to go take a shower.”

She walked off, and Clint stared after her.

Phil was dating someone?

Phil had a girlfriend?

Clint’s brain couldn’t compute the idea. It was like being back in elementary school and discovering a teacher had a life outside of school. Phil wasn’t supposed to have a life outside of SHIELD, outside of them.

And if he did, he should’ve told them. They were friends, weren’t they?

Clint got to his feet, ignoring the hurt that ached in his chest.

#

Game nights were a Coulson’s Crew tradition. Once a month, when the majority of Phil’s assets were not out on mission, he hosted a game night for them—complete with more board games than Clint knew existed and a home-cooked non-SHIELD cafeteria meal.

Tonight, seven of Phil’s twelve assets plus junior agent Maria Hill were crowded into Phil’s flat. ( _Seven of eleven. Wade’s not actually an asset. No way in hell._ ) Mary Stewart and Maria Hill sat across from each other with a Stratego board in between while everyone else huddled around the main table playing Monopoly.

Clint rolled the dice and got a seven, the exact amount that would put him on Pacific Avenue, which was currently loaded with hotels. “Aww, dice.”

“Pay up, Barton,” Natasha said with a smirk.

Clint riffled through his woefully small stack of colorful bills. “You wouldn’t bankrupt your best friend, would you, Nat?”

Nat held out her hand in response, palm up.

Clint sighed and counted out his bills, which was far from enough. Then he mortgaged his few properties. “Welp, looks like I’m out.”

Natasha smiled as she fanned out all of his money.

Clint got up from the table and then wandered over to Phil’s bookshelves. The man owned a lot of books, which he was always happy to let his assets borrow. Clint pretended to be searching the titles for a new book—he had just finished _The Belgariad_ at Phil’s recommendation—but really he looked at the few personal pictures. ( _Not looking for proof of a girlfriend. Nope. That’s not what I’m doing at all._ )

Most were of Phil and Nick Fury, and it disturbed Clint on a visceral level to see Assistant-Director Fury casual and laughing. Some were from the Ranger days: two young men wearing full combat uniforms in the middle of the desert and yet somehow still managing to smile, a shot from the back of Phil where he had Fury in a fireman’s carry and Fury looked bored out of his mind, and a picture of the two young men both at attention in their dress uniforms. Others were from their mysterious outside-of-work friendship: Phil and Fury at the Georgia Dome for the 1996 Olympics, Phil and Fury in a wax museum of all places where Phil was ( _mock?_ ) swooning over the wax figure of Captain America, and one truly terrifying photo of Nick Fury and Phil both smiling while wearing Santa hats and hideous Christmas sweaters.

Clint scowled at the non-Rangers photos, wondering for the first time who was taking the photo. Surely not strangers, at least not for the Christmas shot, which looked like it had been taken in somebody’s home.

But if Phil had a girlfriend, surely there would be pictures of her, instead of endless pictures of just him and Fury or the other guys from his army days. There was the occasional smattering of pictures with his assets: Phil and Mary Stewart in what Mary called a “gender-swap Cap and Peggy cosplay” ( _what the fuck does that even mean?_ ), Phil and Maria both wearing Cubs jerseys at a baseball game, and even Phil and Marc Spector in front of the Egyptian Pyramids ( _must’ve been an op_ ).

Then Clint saw it. What on first glance could be mistaken for a bookmark sticking out of a copy of _Little Women_. But just enough was peaking up that Clint saw a swath of blonde hair leaning in towards Phil’s unmistakable soft brown mop.

Clint pulled the book out carefully, flipping open. There was inscription, written in lovely looping script:

> _For Phil who “never loses patience, never doubts or complains, but always hopes, and works and waits so cheerfully that one is ashamed to do otherwise before him.”_
> 
> _Yours, Bobbi._

The world felt unreal as Clint flipped to the page with the bookmark. It was one of those photobooth printouts, a reel of four images. All four were of Phil Coulson and a stunningly gorgeous blonde woman. In the first picture their heads were tilted together as they displayed dazzling smiles. In the next, Phil was making his “super-serious-you’re-in-big-trouble” face while the blonde woman pouted. The third involved them both making ridiculous faces: Phil was cross-eyed with his tongue stuck out ( _OH MY GOD_ ), while the woman had puffed out her cheeks and flipped her eyelids up. But the fourth…the fourth…

The beautiful woman had her eyes closed and was pressing a kiss against Phil’s temple while the agent was smiling adorably.

Clint snapped the book closed and shoved it back into the case.

“Find something you didn’t like, Clint?” Phil’s voice called across the room.

“Yeah, a musty old classic book. Who wants to read something written a hundred years ago by some dead dude.” Clint turned, immediately putting a grin on his face, making his body relax into nonchalance.

“Some of those dead dudes really knew what they were talking about,” Spector spoke up.

“You would know,” Clint shot back.

“Clint, get me another beer,” Nat said.

“Not your slave,” Clint said. But she gave him a look, and he found himself in the kitchen getting beers for everyone.

The phone rang, and Clint picked it up instinctually—not even thinking that maybe Phil didn’t want him to answer his phone. “Yo. Phil’s place.”

“Chimichanga,” a woman whispered in a weak and breathy voice. Then the line went dead.

Clint pulled the phone back from his ear, staring at it in confusion.

“Wrong number?” Phil came into the kitchen, grabbing the bag of Doritos.

“Maybe,” Clint said, still frowning. “It was some woman. All she said was chimichanga.”

All color drained from Phil’s face, and suddenly Maria Hill was by his side. “Is it Deadpool, sir?”

“No,” Phil said, and suddenly his agent face was on: a mask of bland professionalism. “It’s Mockingbird.” ( _Mockingbird? Who the hell is that?_ ) Phil scanned the room, taking in all of his assets. Clint automatically straightened when Phil’s eyes landed on him.

“I’m going to my office. Hawkeye, Widow, Cavalry, and Knight, go with Hill and suit up,” Phil said, grabbing his keys off the counter. “Hill, call Fury while you’re in route. Jones, stay with Stewart. We’ll call you as soon as we’re back.”

“What do I tell Fury?” Maria asked.

Phil turned his gaze to her, his expression bleak. “Tell him we’re extracting Bobbi. He’ll know what that means.” And then Phil was out the door.

“Do we know what that means?” Spector asked, as he pulled on his jacket.

Maria’s face was pale but stoic as she answered. “It means we’re about to launch an attack on a ZODIAC facility.”

#

Twelve hours later, Clint found himself in the vents of a ZODIAC compound. He crawled forward, until he reached a grate. He glanced down, taking in the room. There was a guard standing diligent by the room’s one door and in the middle of the room was a woman tied to chair, her long blonde hair obscuring her face.

“I’ve got eyes on the prize,” Clint muttered. “There’s only one guard. I can take him out with a tranq dart.”

“Do it.” Coulson’s voice was tight, but Clint didn’t obey it. Coulson wasn’t running this op. He’d given up that right when he’d insisted on going into the field with them.

_(“No way,” May had said, her voice tight—only she was able to talk to Phil this way. “No way in hell you are going with us.”_

_“I am your handler. You do what I…”_

_“Then be our handler and handle it!”_

_“Maria can handle it.”_

_“Maria barely has a year of experience. No offence, Maria.”_

_“None taken.” Maria had been looking pale herself, as if uncertain about taking on the job of handling such a large scale mission._

_“I am going,” Phil had said, his voice eerily calm and quiet. “End of discussion.”_

_Surprisingly, the discussion had ended.)_

“Do it, Hawkeye,” Hill said, from the safety of the van.

One blow dart and the guard went down hard. Clint punched through the grate. The woman didn’t even flinch when it clattered to the ground.

Clint swung out of the vent, dropping down. He crossed the room, kneeling in front of the woman. He could make out her face through her hair. One of her eyes was swollen shut, a deep cut through the eyebrow and forehead above it. Her bottom lip was split, blood encrusting her chin.

“Barbara Morse?” Clint asked softly. She didn’t move. Clint reached forward, finding her pulse in her neck.

“She’s alive,” he spoke into the comm. “But unconscious.”

“We’re in the hall,” Coulson said. “Unlock the door, Hawkeye.”

Clint unlocked the door from the inside and then went back to the woman. He untied her hands as gently as he could, trying not to jar her left wrist which was swollen to twice the size of her right.

The door burst open, and suddenly Clint was being pushed away. Phil pulled the unconscious woman into his arms. “Bobbi? Bobbi? Can you hear me?”

“She’s out, sir,” Clint said. “We’ve got to get her to Medical…”

“I know, Barton,” Coulson snapped. The man stood, cradling the unconscious woman in his arms. He looked down at her, and for a moment his veneer of bland professionalism broke. His eyebrows lifted, his eyes watering, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. Clint had to look away. “I’ve got you, Bobbi. I’m taking you home.”

“Sir,” Natasha leaned into the room from the hallway. “We need to leave.”

“Yes, of course.” Phil’s professional veneer was back. “Hill, we’re on our way out.”

“Copy that, sir,” Maria responded. “Cavalry and Knight will clear the way for you. Widow and Hawkeye, keep Agent and Mockingbird safe.”

“Always,” Clint responded.

Nat and Clint surrounded their handler, while Melinda and Marc cleared the path. The ZODIAC agents didn’t stand a chance, not against the combined work of the Cavalry, Moon Knight, Hawkeye, and Black Widow.

When they stepped out of the building, Clint hit a button on his bow. The building imploded behind them with a blast.

“Holy crap, what was that?” Hill said over the comms. “All my cameras just went dark.”

“I seeded the vents with explosive tips,” Clint admitted. “Just thought it seemed like a bad idea to leave this place standing.”

“Dammit, Hawkeye,” Hill said. “You need to warn me next…”

“Good thinking,” Phil interrupted her, looking at Clint over Bobbi’s prone form. “Now let’s get out of here. Maria, the van.”

“Yes, sir,” Maria said.

In the van, Phil refused to let go of Bobbi, cradling her to his chest. His head leaned forward, touching her blonde hair, and if Clint listened closely, he could hear him whispering one word, over and over, like a prayer, “Please.”

#

Clint stopped in the doorway of the hospital room, clutching a cup of coffee and a bag of donuts.

Bobbi was unconscious in her bed, hooked up to beeping monitors and bags of fluid. The bed seemed to swallow her, a seat of white leaching the color from her complexion. She was a ghostly echo of the woman Clint had seen in Phil’s pictures.

Her handler sat in the chair beside the hospital bed. Phil had changed out of his tac suit and was dressed more casually than Clint had ever seen him, in a pair of beaten up jeans and a Captain America t-shirt. ( _Disconcerting. The robot looks human_.) One of his hands covered Bobbi’s limp hand, while with his other he held a book, from which he was reading aloud.

“... _they stared_ _first at the table and then at their mother_ ,” Phil read, his voice gentle, “ _who looked as if she enjoyed it immensely._

_“’Is it fairies?’ asked Amy._

_“’Santa Claus,’ said Beth._

_“’Mother did it.’ And Meg smiled her sweetest, in spite of her gray beard and white eyebrows.”_

Phil paused, looking up at Clint as he turned the page.

“Coffee and donuts,” Clint said, stepping in and offering the bag and cup to Phil.

The senior agent slid his bookmark into place—the photo strip of him and Bobbi—then closed the book and put it on the nightstand. He turned to Clint with a tired smile, taking the coffee and donuts. Then he turned back to the woman on the bed. “Look at this, Bobbi,” he said, shaking the bag of donuts at eye level. “Donuts!”

“Does she like donuts?” Clint asked, standing awkwardly at the end of the bed.

“She hates Dunkin Donuts, with a passion,” Phil said, shaking his head. “She says they’re an abomination—that they’re too cakey—and she teases me mercilessly every time I eat them around her.” The man set the bag of donuts down on the edge of the hospital bed, and took a long drink from the coffee.

“Thank you, Clint,” he said. “I needed this.”

“You need to go home,” Clint pointed out. “You need to get some sleep, sir.”

“I’ll sleep here,” he said.

“Sir, you can’t…”

“I’m not leaving, Barton.” In one moment he went from Phil to Coulson, the man disappearing into the authoritative agent, his expression closing off, his eyes becoming steely.

“Yes, sir,” Clint said, taking a step back from the bed.

Coulson sighed, and with that breathe he released tension, becoming Phil once more. His expression became apologetic. “Sorry, Clint. I didn’t mean to snap.”

“It’s okay,” Clint said, with a shrug. “I’ve behaved worse when Nat is in here.”

“Don’t I know it,” Phil said, his lips quirking in a faint smile again. He pulled a donut out of the bag, looking to Bobbi hopefully—as if she might wake up just to berate him about his food choices—and then took a bite out of it.

Clint knew he should leave. He should let Phil have his time alone with this woman who obviously meant so much to him.

The archer took a step back towards the door, and then looked back to Phil. His handler looked so fragile, sitting there at Bobbi’s side, powder from the donut dusting his blue t-shirt.

He looked like he needed a friend.

Clint grabbed the other chair in the room and straddled it, laying his arms across the back. “So what are you reading?”

“ _Little Women_ ,” Phil said. “It’s her favorite book. She comes from a family of four girls. She’s the second oldest and always felt a kinship with Jo.”

“I don’t know anything about the story,” Clint admitted, and Phil looked up at him in surprise.

“Really? There was a movie a little while back. Susan Sarandon. Winona Ryder. Came out in 1994.”

“I was a little busy with other stuff at the time,” Clint said with a shrug. 1994 hadn’t been a good year for him.

Phil studied him for a moment, and then said, “You can stay if you want. I’ll start back at the beginning.”

“That would be nice, sir.”

Phil took a large gulp of his coffee and then exchanged the cup for the book. Clint rested his head on his arms, closing his eyes, as he listened to Phil read.

“ _Chapter 1:_ _Playing Pilgrims_

_‘Christmas won’t be Christmas without any presents,’ grumbled Jo, lying on the rug._

_‘It’s so dreadful to be poor!’ sighed Meg, looking down at her old dress_ ….”

#

Clint nearly fell asleep like that, listening to Phil read. _“…she said decidedly, ‘I’m sure now that I shouldn’t be afraid of him, for he’s got kind eyes, though his mouth is grim, and he looks as if he had a tremendous will of his own…’_ ”

“Sounds like you,” Clint murmured.

Phil stopped reading, and then chuckled softly. “You sound like her.”

“Hmm?” Clint opened his eyes, blinking away sleep as he looked at Phil.

His handler was looking at the book, his fingers listing down the page as if he could feel the words written there. “She’s always finding us in books, sending us quotes and writing these little mini essays to prove we are this or that character.”

_Us? Who’s us?_ Clint wondered, but aloud he asked, “So does she agree with me? Are you Mr. Lawrence?”

“No,” he said, a smile quirking her lips. “That honor goes to Nick.”

“Fury?” Clint sat up, all thoughts of sleep disappearing.

Phil’s smile grew wider. “I’m Mr. March, and Robbie is Laurie.”

“Robbie?”

Phil’s smile was suddenly gone. He sighed, his hand covering his face. “Obviously I’m too tired to be trusted to speak. I should…I should get some sleep I suppose. Bobbi wouldn’t appreciate me killing myself for her.”

Clint fell silent, his stomach churning oddly, his heart thrumming in his throat. “Sir…?”

Phil looked up, his eyebrows drawing together as he glanced at Clint. “Yes?”

“We’re friends, right?”

“Of course,” Phil said. He closed the book, leaving a finger between the pages, but turned all of his attention to Clint. “Is there something bothering you, Clint?”

“Who is she?” Clint asked, motioning to the unmoving form on the bed.

Phil’s eyebrows raised in a question. “You were at the mission brief; you know who she is.”

“No, I mean who is she to you?” Clint asked. “Is she your...your girlfriend?”

Surprise flashed across his handlers face, and then the man let out a short burst of laughter. “Girlfriend? Bobbi? What gave you that idea?”

“Well, she’s gorgeous,” Clint said, “and you’re…well, you’re you.”

Phil huffed, turning his gaze to Bobbi on the bed. “Yeah, I’m me.”

Clint didn’t know what to do with that tone, that tone that said Phil didn’t think he was a very appealing person to be.

“Is this like some sort of unrequited love thing?” Clint asked, and Phil looked up at him again in surprise. “Do you not think you’re good enough for her? Because fuck that, sir. You’re amazing, and she’d be lucky to have someone as awesome as you.”

Phil stared at him, shock written in the quirk of his eyebrows and the slight drop of his jaw. Clint met Phil’s gaze firmly, not wanting the man to think he didn’t mean his words. He meant everything he said. If Bobbi couldn’t see how Phil was pure awesomeness then she didn’t deserve him.

“I…thank you, Clint,” he said. “I…” His gaze flickered for a moment, down Clint’s face and then back up at his eyes. “But that’s not the situation.”

“No?” Clint said, his eyes narrowing. “Then what is it, sir? Because I have never seen you fall apart like this for any other asset. When I’m in Medical you only visit me for debriefs and scoldings. You don’t sit here and hold my hand and read me my favorite book. Hell, you probably don’t even know what my…”

“When asked you’ll say _Robin Hood_ , but the truth is, it’s _Mr. Popper’s Penguins_.”

It was Clint’s turn for his jaw to drop in surprise. “How do you know that?”

“It’s my job to know,” Phil said. “And if you want me to read to you in Medical—if that will keep you here without complaining—I will. When Bobbi was little and she was sick, her mother used to read to her, and now when she’s in Medical, I try to have someone do the same. Usually either me or Mary.” His lips quirked into a small smile. “One very notable time, it was Fury, but it nearly sent the Medical staff into fits, so we haven’t repeated that.”

“So you’re saying you would do this for any asset,” Clint said skeptically. “And that she’s not special to you.”

Phil sighed, tiredness overtaking his expression. “I would do this for any asset.”

“But…?”

“She is more than asset to me,” Phil admitted. His gaze was soft as he watched the sleeping girl, and then he reached up and slipped his hand over her much smaller one. “Bobbi is my friend, has been since before she was a SHIELD agent. In all of SHIELD only Fury knows as much about me, and as much as I’m worried that she won’t pull through this, I’m more worried about what ZODIAC got out of her. What she might have admitted. And I know she always said she’d die before she’d give up anything, but everyone has a breaking point. _Everyone._

“This is why I don’t share things,” Phil finally looked up at Clint, his blue eyes intense. “You are my friend, Clint, but there are things I can’t tell you. People I swore to protect long before I swore allegiance to SHIELD. People who could be used against me by my enemies. People who could be used to break me, and God, I would break. Hard. And that’s why I don’t share. That’s why there are no pictures in my apartment. That’s why I don’t talk about my past. Because I have a past to protect. I have people to protect.”

“And she’s one of those people,” Clint said, jerking his head to the bed. “Except she followed you into your work.”

Phil nodded, and Clint understood.

Clint didn’t have a past worth protecting. But he remembered how much it had hurt to see his mother beaten. He could imagine a reality where she was still alive, and if his enemies knew about her, there was nothing Clint wouldn’t say or give them to ensure she was kept out of harm’s way.

Somewhere Phil must have a mother or a father. Maybe even some siblings. Clint doubted he had a wife and kids—simply because that would be one hell of a cover up—but that didn’t mean he didn’t have family.

Somewhere he had a Robbie, a person that Bobbi likened to the charming but shut away Laurie in _Little Women_. And the fact that Clint even knew that name—knew that connection—was a danger to this Robbie guy, Phil, and all of SHIELD.

He wanted to tell Phil that he could trust Clint—that Clint would never break and reveal his secrets. But though they were friends, Clint wasn’t sure that was a level of trust he had earned yet, so instead he said, “You should get some sleep, sir. I can keep reading to her, if you’d like.”

“Shouldn’t you be getting some sleep yourself?” Phil asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I slept through most of chapters two and three,” Clint said with a shrug.

Phil smiled and offered Clint the book. “Thank you, Clint.”

“I’ll make sure someone calls you if she wakes.”

“I know you will,” Phil said, and as he passed Clint on his way out, he patted the archer on his back.

Clint turned to watch Phil leave. The handler stopped in the hallway to talk to the doctor, and then the two walked out of Clint’s sight.

It was true that Clint didn’t have a past worth protecting, but he did have something now. Clint may never compare in Phil’s eyes to whatever family the man had stashed away, but Phil and Nat were the only thing resembling a family that the archer had.

Clint turned his gaze back to the sleeping woman, his hand gripping the book tightly. “Look, I don’t know you,” he said, his voice low and tight. “But if you revealed even a single fact about Phil you weren’t supposed to, I will make you wish you were still in ZODIAC’s hands.”

The woman didn’t move; the only indication she was alive was the steady rise and fall of her chest and the beeping of the heart monitor. But Clint felt better. If he needed to reiterate the threat or make good on it when she was awake he would. For now, he opened the book and picked up where Phil left off.

#

Clint made it his solemn duty over the next several days to make sure that Phil remembered to eat, sleep, and shower. Every night he came in and sent the handler home, taking the book from him and continuing the read through of _Little Women_.

This became their routine for a week.

_“…she felt as if she had stabbed her dearest friend_ ,” Clint read, wondering if Jo March could really know what it was like to stab her dearest friend—how it felt to put a knife in the person he’d thought he could trust above all others ( _no, won’t think of Barney. I won’t_ ), _“and when he left her without a look behind him, she knew that the boy Laurie never would come again.”_

“You have a nice voice.”

Clint stopped reading, looking up at the woman in the bed. Her eyes were open ( _Fuck me. So blue. So pretty_ ) and on Clint.

“You’re awake,” he said stupidly.

“Hmm,” the woman hummed, and her lips quirked into a smile so reminiscent of Phil that Clint wondered if they were related.“Where’s Phil?”

“Sleeping,” Clint said.

“Really?” Her perfect blonde eyebrows rose as she overtly scanned him, her eyes trailing up and down his body. “Interesting.”

“I should, uh, get the doctors,” Clint said, rising to his feet.

“You do that, arms,” she said.

_Arms?_ Clint put it down to her drugged up state and slipped into the hall.

Moments later, the doctors were in the room, and Phil was jogging down the hall in answer to Clint’s call. He’d been sleeping in SHIELD quarters for the past few nights, not willing to go all the way back to his apartment, but at least he was sleeping.

“She’s awake?” Phil skidded to a halt in front of Clint. It was still weird to see him in jeans and a t-shirt ( _oh my god, is his t-shirt on backwards?_ ), but Clint thought it was a sight he could get used to.

He liked the idea that Phil was human.

“Yeah, doctors are still in there, but I’m sure they’ll…” Phil didn’t wait for Clint to finish the statement. Instead the handler pushed his way into the hospital room and bullied his way through the protesting doctors.

Clint turned away from the observation window, affording them so modicum of privacy. Clint didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but then he heard his name.

“…Clint Barton. Hawkeye,” Phil said.

“He’s cute,” Bobbi responded. “Please tell me you’re tapping that.”

Clint stifled a laugh. ( _Me and Phil? Phil and me? Ridiculous_.) Not only was Clint pretty sure that Phil did not swing that way, but Phil was…Phil. Even if he were gay, the man was so outside of Clint’s league that it would be like trying to date across species.

 “Bobbi, he’s my asset,” Phil said, reproach in his tone.

For a long time there was no response. Maybe they didn’t need words for everything, like him and Nat. Maybe Phil was giving her that look, that look that said, “you are drugged up to your gills and trying but failing to be funny” while Bobbi smiled at some sort of inside joke.

Bobbi finally broke the silence. “So you’re saying you wouldn’t mind if I took a shot at him?”

“Have you even spoken to him?” Phil asked, his tone equal parts fondness and exasperation.

“I know everything I need to know about him,” Bobbi answered. “He has great arms—“ Well that was true. Clint’s arms were fucking awesome. “—beautiful eyes—“ Were his eyes beautiful? He’d have to ask Nat. “—and you trust him completely.”

“What makes you say that?”

“You’ve never left me alone in Medical when I’m in this sort of condition,” she said, her voice taking on a drowsy tone. “But you left him with me. You let him read to me. You trust him.”

It wasn’t a question, but Phil still answered. “Yeah, I do.”

Warmth filled Clint’s chest, and he smiled. Phil trusted him. Maybe not completely yet—not with the details of his personal life—but here in the things that mattered, Phil trusted him.

Clint had always known that—Phil always listened to what he had to say on and off the field—but it was nice to hear it said.

For a while there was silence, and then Phil stepped out of the room. He ran a weary hand over his face and then looked at Clint. “The doctors say she’s going to be fine. And she said that ZODIAC only questioned her on who she was working for, and that she’d told them nothing.”

“You believe her?” Clint asked, turning to look through the observation window. He rested his hands on the window sill and stared at the sleeping woman.

“Yeah, I do. I trust Bobbi,” Phil said.

Clint nodded. Phil trusted Bobbi, and Clint trusted Phil.

And really that was all he needed to know.

 

**Epilogue**

Natasha paid the bartender, took her beer, and turned back to the chaos.

It was Barbara Morse’s party, to celebrate her release from Medical. The woman looked much better. No more traces of bruising marred her face, though her lip still sported a healing wound. Other than that her only visible sign of injury was the cast on her left arm, which Marc Spector was currently leaning over with a black Sharpie. Melinda May was telling a joke that had Maria Hill laughing and Mary Stewart in mirthful tears, while Clint was on the bar’s small stage, singing “Don’t Stop Believing” in a rather disconcerting key.

Phil Coulson sat at a table with a beer in hand, watching them all with a satisfied smile on his face.

Natasha made her way across the room and slipped into the seat next to her handler. Phil nodded at her but didn’t say anything, taking another sip from his beer instead.

Mercifully, the song ended. Clint bowed with a flourish to the cheers of the other SHIELD agents in the audience. He pointed directly at Bobbi and shouted, “You owe me a drink.”

“A drink?” Bobbi placed her right hand over her heart, feigning surprise. “Whatever for?”

“For dazzling you with my awesomeness,” he answered, jumping off the stage. He strode across the room, grabbed her unbroken hand, and pulled her towards the bar.

Natasha watched them with narrowed eyes.

Whether she intended it or not, Bobbi Morse changed the dynamic of Coulson’s Crew, and Natasha wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

Phil was also watching Bobbi and Clint, probably in what he thought was a discreet manner, but Natasha could read her handler far too well. Clint leaned over the edge of the bar, flirting unashamedly with the bartender and giving everyone a good view of his ass in his tight jeans. Phil wasn’t the only one appreciating the view; Bobbi was overtly checking Clint out.

Natasha knew exactly how she felt about that.

“What do I need to know about her?” Natasha asked.

“About Bobbi?” Phil tore his gaze away from Clint, looking at Natasha in confusion. “Everything relevant about her you learned in the brief.”

“I don’t mean her record,” Natasha said. “I mean that.” She jerked her hand to the two assets at the bar, who were now making out. Bobbi had flipped Clint around, pressed him up against the bar, and now had her tongue so far down his throat that it was a wonder he wasn’t gagging.

Phil choked on his beer at the sight, and then suddenly his features blanked into his “agent-face.” He watched them for a moment, and then said, “Well, I’ll admit I didn’t see that coming.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. Was everyone else in the world truly so blind? “There is no other way this could have ended, not with what you told him.”

Phil’s eyebrows rose. “What do you mean?”

If he was any other person, Natasha wouldn’t explain herself. She wouldn’t care that he didn’t understand Clint’s basic psychology. But this was Coulson, their handler. It was important he understood the power he had over Clint. Otherwise he might get Clint killed.

And Clint being dead didn’t even bare thinking about.

“I mean that there are two people in this world that Clint trusts implicitly,” Natasha said. “And if one of those people spends days showing over and over again what another, new person means to him, it’s going to give that new person an advantage over every other person on the planet.”

Phil frowned, and Natasha did sigh. “Phil,” she said. “Clint likes Bobbi because you love Bobbi.”

“Oh. _Oh_.” Phil said, understanding dawning on him. He looked back to the bar, where Clint was now signing Bobbi’s cast with a purple marker and an evil grin. “I didn’t realize—I mean I didn’t know that he trusted me so much.”

“I don’t think you realize that Clint only trusts one way,” Natasha answered. “Completely or not at all.”

Clint finished signing the cast and looked up at Bobbi. The woman leaned down and kissed him sweetly.

“Are you okay?” Phil asked, and now it was Natasha’s turn to be surprised. “About them. I know what Clint means to you.”

“Clint and I aren’t romantic,” Natasha said.

“I know, but you are close, and Clint being with Bobbi—that changes things.”

Natasha shrugged and took another drink of beer. Phil wasn’t wrong. Bobbi would attempt to change things, but she wasn’t a threat. There was only one threat to Clint and Natasha’s relationship.

And he was sharing the table with her.

**Author's Note:**

> Don't worry. There will be a fic from Natasha's POV explaining why she feels the way she does. (But maybe not right away. I think my next fic is going to be pure shenanigans to balance all the feels I've been writing lately, but there will be a fic that explains. Never fear.)
> 
> Oh, and if you're curious who Robbie is, read the third fic in this series: [Coulson's Extremely Effective Chart](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1265620). :)


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